


The Substance of Things Hoped For

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fic, Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angsty kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Substance of Things Hoped For

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to dragonfly for beta. Spoilers up to 2.07.

**1.**

Peter was relieved when Neal wore a hat to work. The hats were ridiculous, showy affectations, and they reminded Peter exactly who Neal was. If Neal showed up in shirtsleeves with his jacket slung over his shoulder, looking like an ordinary—albeit extremely attractive—office worker, it was all too easy to accidentally trust him, and from there to drift into daydreams. To let himself want.

And the worst of it was that Neal was totally aware of this. Like now, he was sitting across from Peter in the team meeting, bare-headed and smirking, his gaze opaque, his fingers moving endlessly on a creased piece of paper that would no doubt end life as an origami animal. Jesus Christ, those fingers.

No. El might say that she'd accepted it as a done deal, that there was no use fighting it because Neal had clearly stolen a piece of Peter's heart along with all his other prizes, and they'd always agreed their marriage was meant to serve them and not the other way around. She might even mean it. But Peter would not give in to something so base and inappropriate. El was wrong: this wasn't love, it was pure lust, and he'd get over it. He would.

 

 **2.**

It was half-past midnight in Central Park, no one else around but a few homeless people and a film crew off to the east, near the zoo. Peter, Diana and Jones were in full-tilt pursuit of a suspect, Garber, armed with a million-dollar antique sword, who in turn was chasing Neal, apparently with murderous intent. Chasing and gaining on him.

Their footsteps punctuated the air, but otherwise the park was eerily quiet, the distant sounds of traffic and sirens only emphasizing their isolation. Peter's lungs ached with cold, and he'd never been more tempted to fire off a warning shot, but he shouted instead: "FBI! Drop your weapon."

The words seemed to echo through the trees.

Garber ran on regardless, and Neal, losing ground, swerved off the path and up a grassy bank. Garber put on a burst of speed, lunged after him. Neal shouted. Peter and Diana threw themselves bodily forward at the same time—Peter shoving Neal out of harm's way as Diana tackled Garber to the ground.

The usual pithy exchanges, and then Diana and Jones hauled Garber away for processing while Peter checked that Neal was still in one piece. "Are you okay?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Things were simple then—it didn't occur to him not to pat Neal down looking for wounds. They were both still breathless from the chase, Neal a little shaky, probably from adrenaline, and somehow, a clinical check for bodily harm segued into Neal's mouth on Peter's, shockingly hot, wet, eager—and a grappling embrace that was almost a struggle.

Sweat prickled down Peter's back, and Neal leaned in hard, sliding his tongue into Peter's mouth, apparently determined to ruin everything.

Peter summoned all his resolution and pulled away, ignoring Neal's inarticulate objection. He turned side on, looking blindly into the shadows, trying to catch his breath. His pulse was hammering, and that wasn't from the chase. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Neal. "I'm not."

But Peter barely heard him. He dragged his palm over his face. "That was out of line. If you want to lay a complaint—"

"Peter—" There was a low edge to Neal's tone that sent a shiver of desire down Peter's spine.

"Well, you can. You won't go back to prison for it, I promise." Peter made himself contemplate the potential fallout of a grievance action. Bad enough that he was going to have to confess this to El; the idea of Hughes' crusty disapproval was enough to cool any ardor.

In his peripheral vision, Neal pushed his hair back, shook his head. "If it's like that, forget it."

"You know it's like that." Peter allowed himself a moment's relief, then started walking back toward the park gates. A few steps and Neal was at his side, dusting off his hat, which must have fallen to the ground during the take-down.

 

 **3.**

The first time Peter was physically aware of Neal, they were lying side by side on top of the storage shelves in Lao Shen's warehouse. Thugs passed below them. The handle of Peter's firearm was snug in his palm. Neal's leg pressed against his was less comforting, more distracting. Peter spared a moment's sympathy for all of Neal's previous marks, because when it came down to it, the combination of brilliance, beauty and bright-eyed determination was damned irresistible. Peter had held out as long as he could, but his defences were eroding.

Neal seemed oblivious, probably so used to seeing Peter as a stuffed Government suit that it didn't even occur to him to pay attention to the signs. Peter thought that might be his salvation; that he could ignore the attraction, knowing it was unrequited.

Which it was. Of course it was.

 

 **4.**

Neal was wasted on bourbon and frustration after a long drinking session with a suspect and a sting gone awry. Peter drove him home. "We'll get him," said Peter. "We'll get him tomorrow."

"Do you ever think about the park?" Neal asked, out of nowhere, and then, as Peter pulled to a stop at some traffic lights, he leaned across the car and pressed his soft, scratchy, drunken mouth to Peter's, and for a moment, Peter forgot all the reasons. He jammed his foot on the brake and cupped Neal's neck, stroked his thumb down the long line of Neal's throat and kissed back, heat coursing through him, turning him on, oh God. Neal's hand gripped his wrist, holding him there and—

A horn blared behind them, and a second later, a cab growled past.

Peter pushed Neal away and gripped the wheel with both hands. "No. This doesn't happen again."

"You're the boss." Which sounded light and defensive, but then Neal leaned back in his seat and sighed heavily, turning to look out the passenger window. "God, I have no idea what I'm doing," he muttered.

"You're drunk," said Peter, as if that were explanation enough. A few minutes later he pulled up outside June's. "Go on, get some sleep. We'll catch the bastard tomorrow."

"Right." Neal didn't move. He looked like words were lining up on the tip of his tongue. Dangerous words.

Peter couldn't give him an opening. "I have to get home. Elizabeth."

"Right." Neal got out of the car, hat in hand. "Can we—forget it?"

"Of course. It's already forgotten," Peter told him, lying through his teeth, and drove off before he did or said something to make matters even worse.

 

 **5.**

Things between them changed after that. What had been an easy working partnership deepened until they barely needed words to communicate. Over and over, Neal anticipated Peter's questions, his needs. Peter would turn around and Neal would be there with the file, the answer, or on the phone getting the information they needed. Peter couldn't tell if he was doing it deliberately, but either way, it was seductive and utterly unnerving. There was no chance the rest of the unit wouldn't notice. So Peter reacted the only way he could—by keeping Neal at a distance. He focused on work, let impatience cloud his vision, and snapped at anyone who tried to make light of their current case, whatever it happened to be.

Problem was, he couldn't turn it off. "Honey, you're being an ass," said El, gently, when he'd growled at the television for the third time that evening. "What's wrong? Because whatever it is, you need to fix it."

"I can't," said Peter, glaring at the commercials. "There's no way."

She turned his face toward her and kissed him. "There's always a way. You just have to have a little faith."

 

 **6.**

Neal's hands traveled down Peter's body, and oh Christ, this was a _crime scene_. They could not be doing this, and they definitely couldn't be doing it here. Peter tore his mouth away.

"This is a mistake," he said, grabbing Neal's hands to stop them from unbuttoning his shirt any further.

Neal looked at him, openly frustrated. "One you keep making." He angled his head forward so his nose was only a few inches from Peter's neck and inhaled, causing a rush of air across Peter's skin, making him shiver. "What if it isn't?"

Peter swallowed and extricated himself from between Neal and the hotel room wall. "You know I can't—"

"Can't what?" Neal's gaze was sharp. Apparently he wasn't going to just drop it, this time. They were going to have to talk.

"Name it," said Peter. "Can't abuse my position. Can't do this to Elizabeth. Can't trust you."

Neal backed off, hands raised as if Peter had pulled a gun. "You had me at Elizabeth. Okay. If you tell her, tell her I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"She wouldn't have a problem with it," said Peter, despite himself. "Doesn't." Kicked himself the moment the words were out of his mouth.

Neal stared at him, waiting. Then, "So?"

"So she _should_ ," said Peter. Not just because El's objection would make it possible to resist Neal, but because Peter honestly couldn't understand why she didn't mind. This was wrong, it was a betrayal, and she didn't seem to grasp that at all. "Shouldn't she?"

Neal's shoulders twitched in an infinitesimal shrug. "Not everyone's wired for jealousy."

Peter swallowed hard and held his ground as Neal approached. When their lips met, he let his eyes fall shut, and he focused everything on Neal's mouth moving against his, the heat of his body, the warm clean masculine smell of him.

Neal's fingers ghosted along his jaw, and for the first time, it was Neal who pulled away. He did it slowly, carefully, as if he were trying not to spook Peter. Gave them a few inches space, nothing more. "You can trust me. You can trust me with this, I swear."

"I can't," said Peter, the words raw and honest. Neal flinched, and Peter's chest tightened in response. He tried to soften it, to explain. "I can't because I want to too damned much."

That took a split second to register, then Neal surged forward again, reaching for him, and Peter weakened in the face of his desire, because this was Neal, who he knew and loved, and who he'd already fucked around too many times. God only knew what damage he'd done with his mixed signals. But. "We shouldn't—"

"That's a bad reason," said Neal against the side of his neck. "Do you _want_ to?"

Peter groaned helplessly and felt Neal's answering exhalation.

"That's all that matters," said Neal, with a note of satisfaction that set Peter's alarm bells clanging. Neal raised his head, but reality slammed home with a sickening dip in Peter's gut, and Peter pushed him away.

"No. It isn't." He couldn't do this. He wasn't a criminal. He couldn't have an illicit affair, whether El condoned it or not. The fact that he was tempted to the breaking point only proved the danger: if they did this, he could lose everything. "I'm sorry. No."

 

 **7.**

The Monday afternoon after the Franklin case, Neal barged into Peter's office and shut the door behind him. "Okay, I get it."

Peter looked up from the report he was writing and waited for context.

"I'm your CI. Anything happens and we get found out, that's the end of your career." Neal shrugged. He looked tired and resigned, hat in hand. "I get that now."

Peter's throat ached. It wasn't surprising that the twisted mess of Jack Franklin and Rebecca's relationship had hit home with Neal, but Peter's take on the weekend had been the opposite. From the moment during the test drive when he'd admitted to Rebecca, however obliquely, what Neal meant to him, the admission had become fact, a soft undeniable weight in his chest. There was no hiding from it anymore. "Neal—I count on you," he said. "I know you're good for it."

Neal's face shifted, resignation giving way to confusion. "What are you saying? You trust me?"

"Yeah, I do." Peter's heart thudded loud enough that Neal must be able to hear it.

Neal licked his lips, apparently lost for words, and Peter stood up so they were eye to eye. They shouldn't be talking about this in the office, but none of the steps that had led them here had been wise—perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps this was just how they were together.

"What are we talking about here?" asked Peter.

Neal stepped closer. "Whatever you want."

"Don't bullshit me," said Peter, hope making him hoarse.

"I'm not." Neal dropped his hat on the corner of Peter's desk and let his hands hang at his sides. "I'll be—whatever you want."

Peter searched his face. After all this time, all those stolen kisses, all the doubts and self-recrimination and late-night talks with El, all the fantasies he couldn't put behind him and the moments, scattered throughout weeks and months, of connection, of _recognition_ , now Neal was saying Peter could take as much or as little as he chose. And Peter believed him. "All right. I think you should come home with me. We need to talk to Elizabeth."

A flush colored Neal's cheeks, his eyes bright. "I—"

"You said anything," Peter reminded him. "What if I want everything? What if I want forever?"

The corner of Neal's mouth curved. They locked gazes, and Peter felt a rush of vertigo, of falling forward, further into love.

"I think I can make that work," said Neal slowly. "Elizabeth—?"

"She'll be glad. Relieved." Peter gave a rueful smile. "Apparently I've been a pain in the ass lately."

Neal breathed a laugh. "I'd noticed."

Peter picked up Neal's hat and turned it in his hands. "There's no way to do this right, but—we do it the best we can, and that means talking to El."

"I said anything," said Neal, taking the hat and using it to wave Peter past him toward the door.

Peter touched the door handle, and for a moment they were shielded from the rest of the office. Neal crowded up behind him, a fraction too close for propriety, and Peter half-turned toward him. "From here on, we're in this together," he said softly, and kissed him, a promise, the start of something big.


End file.
